


Guts and Blood

by Checkerbox



Series: heartfelt [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - The Magister's Birthright, M/M, another alternate conversation take, with fish gutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: Dorian wants to discuss what happened at the market with Ponchard. Trevelyan cuts fish open.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Series: heartfelt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587253
Kudos: 47





	Guts and Blood

Trevelyan hadn’t spoken to him in days. Not since they had departed Val Royeaux for Skyhold.

Really, not since their argument back at the marketplace there. It was unsurprising, if dreary; Dorian’s wit tended to be a bit biting when he was in a foul mood, and he had perhaps turned a bit too much of it in Trevelyan’s direction for his trouble. Their mighty Inquisitor had, apparently, decided to take it like a child, sulking to himself the entire way back instead of trying to discuss anything further. Given that Dorian was still angry at him, this seemed an ideal situation.

But then, irritatingly, he missed him. He missed his delightedly inane observations on their surroundings, missed his dark humor and philosophical jibes, missed their cat and mouse flirting. He watched Trevelyan storm moodily along by his lonesome, initially refusing Sera’s attempts to cheer him up before finally cracking and slapping a hand over his mouth when he laughed.

Varric’s questioning glances were tiresome, but they didn’t begin to measure up to how it felt seeing the smile on Trevelyan’s face drop when he looked his way.

By the time they had actually passed through Skyhold’s gates, Dorian was quite certain that the entire altercation had been simply a result of his own stupid stubbornness, and that the only recourse for him was to both calmly explain why the whole thing had bothered him (as Trevelyan had told him outright several times that such things often eluded him, and perhaps he should have kept that in mind instead of getting irritated and calling him “thick”), and to apologize.

Of course, once he’d arrived at that conclusion, Trevelyan was nowhere to be seen.

It was a habit of his to go missing soon after missions. Often Josephine would be looking for him to sign some document or kiss the ass of some noble, and after two hours she would have to enlist the help of one of his inner circle to locate him. Cassandra and the Iron Bull were generally the most successful at it, something Trevelyan would complain about to no end once caught. Dorian often had a decent success rate as well, but he suspected that in those cases Trevelyan was allowing himself to be found instead.

He felt a small pang in his chest at the thought.

Blight take that man.

Eventually, running out of patience, Dorian made his way up to the attic of the tavern and employed Cole’s help.

“_Roiling, wrecking, wrong—_He is dismembering to put himself together. _They _think he is just being helpful. _At least **someone** thinks I’m helpful_.”

Dorian scowled. “Yes, thank you Cole.”

Cole gave a wispy and genuine smile. “You’re welcome, Dorian.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but there were few things that _dismembering _could refer to, and sure enough he eventually found Trevelyan gutting and fileting fish in the kitchens. He was alone, absorbed and with such fervor that it was clear he’d intimidated the rest of the staff into taking a break while he took out his frustrations. So focused was he that he didn’t seem to notice when his solitude was breached, Dorian remaining in the doorway for a time to watch. The awful work was quick, and neat—he had bitter energy to him, but not to the degree that it made his fingers clumsy. That was good.

“Pretending those are me?” was how he chose to announce his presence.

A hastily suppressed smile twitched onto Trevelyan’s face, though when he paused in his cutting to glance up his eyes were raw and smoldering. It was actually a rather sexy look, though Dorian would never inform him of such in his current state. “If I wanted to gut and filet you I would just do it, instead of fantasizing about it.”

"_Goodness me_.” And there Trevelyan glared up at him again, mouth opening as though to correct Dorian, only to realize at the last minute that he was being sarcastic.

He said instead, “—To be clear, I am not doing this to act out any…lingering aggression. I simply find cutting flesh soothing.”

“Ah.” Dorian would be disturbed by the sentiment save for that there _was_ something oddly pleasing about watching him work, the way his knife glided cleanly and precisely through the fish. Trevelyan handled the blade like an artist. It made Dorian wonder why he favored bows so much, when he clearly enjoyed getting so up-close and personal. Especially with the larger fish that involved burying his arm up to his elbow in its stomach to pull out the guts.

Well. _That_ part was a little off-putting.

Trevelyan broke the silence first. “Are you going to apologize to me, or do you expect me to apologize to you?” He shook his head, lip twisting as he took up another fish with a _thwap _on the table. “Because I’m still a bit mad at you, so the second one isn’t happening. I have nothing to apologize for.”

“No?” And despite his intentions coming up here, Dorian couldn’t quite let that slide, pulling his eyes away from the mesmerizing display and folding his arms. “You don’t think flagrantly disregarding my wishes counts as something to apologize for?”

“You wanted the amulet back. I got it back for you. That is completely in line with your wishes.”

“I wanted to get it back _myself_.” That same surge of anger returned, though it only came out more as an annoyed huff. “The one _little _fact you seem to keep forgetting.”

Trevelyan gave him a hard stare. “Tell me how you would have gotten it back. Right now. In detail.”

Dorian floundered, jaw working as he resisted grinding his teeth before muttering, “I would have come up with _something_.”

“Oh, well, I stand corrected, that is an _excellent plan._”

“I am sure,” he said, teeth gritted, “That a method would have made itself available to me, given some time. Not everything has to be done right away.”

“A method did come up. Having me get it for you.”

“And what do you think they’ll say now that you’ve done it? ‘There’s Dorian Pavus. He can have whatever he wants because he’s in bed with the Inquisitor’.”

“That’s absurd. We haven’t even slept together ye—”

“_That’s not the point._” His voice suddenly felt too loud in the enclosed space, and for a moment Dorian wondered if the servants were not simply absent but rather listening in at the door. He sighed, and lowered his voice. “What don’t you understand about this? I don’t want them talking about us like that. I don’t want to just be the Magister that’s using you.”

Trevelyan stopped cutting. “Using me? You think you can _use _me?”

Dorian bristled. “I think they will _say _I am using you, yes.”

And Trevelyan, normally so calm and composed, practically threw his hands up in the air. “For fuck’s sake--I’ve never met someone so hellbent on making everything difficult. It’s like in leaving Tevinter you threw off one set of rules only to tie the others ‘round your neck.” He stabbed the knife into the table with a loud _thwack, _leaning over the half-finished filet job to speak. “If you don’t like my methods because you think it’s ‘immoral’ to terrify merchants with social threats, that’s one thing. But talking about what they will say, or what they’ll think, about us, about me—I don’t give a shit. It’s not important. What we think of each other, that’s what’s important. I am not going to let some empty-headed knobs dictate how I behave with you, Dorian, and—”

It was hard to kiss him properly so as to keep from coming into contact with the blood and fish guts, but somehow Dorian managed, resisting the urge to pull him close and irrevocably stain his front. To his credit, Trevelyan caught on rather quickly, sinking against him with a small noise as Dorian cupped his cheek. To kiss him with soft pressure, close-lipped and sweet, in the middle of a room where anyone could walk in and see--the novelty of it sent his heart racing.

When they pulled back from each other, he said, “I’ve been an ass. I’m sorry.”

Trevelyan’s eyes widened, then he pushed in to kiss him again.

The second time was not like the first. Trevelyan kissed him like a man possessed, leaning over the table as far as he could go and biting warningly on his lip any time it seemed he was pulling away. Despite the intensity of it, despite the way that their breath mingled and tongues swept across teeth, Trevelyan didn’t lay a hand on him. It was only natural, given that his gloves were still covered in blood. Dorian compensated by threading his fingers through his hair this time, well-trimmed nails lightly scratching across his scalp.

The second time they parted, almost gasping, Dorian saw that Trevelyan was gripping tightly onto the knife that he’d stuck in the table. His other hand was digging into the wood so hard that it was a wonder he wasn’t carving furrows into it.

He looked into his eyes and saw the naked heat there and understood with a sudden shock down to his toes that they had surpassed the harmless part of their flirting.

Trevelyan kissed him a third time. Slower, but brief enough that Dorian only barely had a moment to respond. His mind was miles away, and he almost missed it when he was kissed a fourth and fifth time, each softer and more imploring than the last. His insides shivered.

Not unpleasantly.

After a moment the tension relaxed in Trevelyan’s fingers, and he released the knife.

“I apologize for my…belligerence,” he said quietly, voice somewhat husky as he spoke. “I just wanted to please you. And I become very…upset when my actions don’t have the intended consequences.”

“I am _very pleased _to have my amulet back. Even if it scratched my pride a little to get it.” He reached over to trail his fingers over Trevelyan’s hair again, watching the way his eyes flickered; a distracted glaze moving over his eyes, lips parting just to show teeth once more. And like a typical cat, he looked briefly annoyed when Dorian stopped. “And I will say…I do think it was immoral—hardly the man’s fault I was fool enough to sell the blighted thing in the first place—but it was deeply enjoyable to see you make him quiver in his boots.”

That earned him a laugh. “I wish you had told me that earlier. I like terrifying Orlesian merchants. You could watch me.”

He dropped his voice to a lower register, practically purring. “I do so enjoy watching you.”

There was a twitch of the hand as Trevelyan almost reached for him again, holding back by tightening his fingers into a fist. He was still a mess of guts and coagulated red.

What an effective barrier it made.

Dorian wondered how long he could get away with standing there and tempting him before Trevelyan forgot himself and made a move anyway.

He cleared his throat, affecting a more casual posture and leaning back. “…Now, do Skyhold a favor and clean up. Can’t have the Herald walking around covered in…is that an eye?”

Trevelyan looked down at himself, pulling a sour face. “I think I must. Fish blood is so undignified.”

“As opposed to the blood of our enemies, which you would gladly bathe in.”

“Yes, exactly.”

A dark and hungry look entered in his expression once more as Dorian took a couple steps backward towards the door. It was the way he looked before a battle, the way his eyes tore apart before his hands did. That in itself wasn’t nerve-wracking at all--It was all Dorian could think about sometimes, like when he caught sight of him in the courtyard, training with barely anything on despite the cold weather and shirt clinging to his back…

But then what?

It shouldn’t even be a question. Dorian knew what. He’d just been hoping…that the game would last longer. “Until another time then,” he declared airily, inspecting his nails so as to not reveal anything of himself through eye contact. “Dearest Josie has told me that she is using all this food for some sort of banquet to raise funds for our trek into the Wastes. She’ll likely want you all prim and presentable for her guests.”

Right then he could feel a nest of vipers waking up below his stomach.

“I do wonder if you’ll be able to slip away, hm?”

Trevelyan swallowed.

All that Dorian showed as he walked out was a sultry stride and the curl of his lips as he smirked.

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely pleased with it, but I also like it at the same time, so you see my predicament.
> 
> Another fic in my "rewriting Dorian romance path scenes" thing.


End file.
